Where These Dreams Go
by sofia.estrella
Summary: "And I tried so hard to reach you, but you're falling anyway." A not-quite-Dramione songfic: "Acoustic #3" by the Goo Goo Dolls


Her knocks on the door grew steadily louder. She didn't feel comfortable in this part of town. Why was it taking him so long to answer? He was always home… She could hear someone coming up the stairs. Of course it would just be a Muggle, but it made her nervous all the same. This wasn't a safe place to be alone. Finally the door opened.

The young man was pale and thin. His blond hair stuck up in all directions. He squinted out at her with darkened, heavy eyes.

"Hermione?" he mumbled, stepping aside to allow her in.

The flat was just as dingy as the last time she'd been here. The musty aroma of stale liquor assaulted her nose. Her expression was between a frown and a grimace. "I told you to clean up."

He shrugged. "What's the point?"

Hermione sighed and moved a stack of old _Daily_ _Prophet_s to make room for herself on the couch. She noticed that they were all opened to pages concerning arrests of former Death Eaters. Having known him long enough, she knew what this meant.

"Draco?" she said sharply.

He was still standing by the door. "Does Weasley know you're here?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. He always changed the subject. "No."

"Why didn't you tell him? We're not _doing_ anything…"

"He'd overreact."

Draco snorted. "Can't imagine Weasley overreacting… what's that like?"

She ignored him. "I was going to ask you about these." She held up a _Daily Prophet_.

"What about them?" Draco pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and sat down.

"You've been looking for news of your parents."

His face was impassive. "Don't talk to them anymore. Have to find out how they're doing somehow."

"Doesn't your mum still write every day?" Hermione looked around the flat for the stash of letters that were usually present—on a chair, on the floor, on the table.

"Sometimes more," he answered gruffly.

"Where are the letters?"

"I threw them all out yesterday."

She bit her lip and looked down at her hands folded in her lap.

"I don't want to have anything to do with them." Draco was pulling at a thread in his frayed jeans, unraveling them even further. "It's like after all these years, you know? I don't have to put up with them anymore. Any of them."

Hermione placed her foot to cover up an unsightly stain on the rug. "They only wanted to protect you."

"That's what my mum says in every single letter."

"She loves you. It must hurt her to not know where you are."

There was no response from Draco—only stubborn silence.

"I'm not telling you to forgive them. Just let them know you're alright."

"But I'm not alright," he blurted. "And it's because of them!" He stood up suddenly, almost knocking the chair on its side, and crossed the room to Hermione in a couple steps. He rolled up his sleeve and thrust the faded Dark Mark into her face. "I never wanted this!"

Hermione leaned back on the couch, away from him, her eyes beginning to well with tears.

"They made me into a war criminal," he whispered. "And I just went along with all of it."

_They painted up your secrets  
With the lies they told to you  
And the least they ever gave you  
Was the most you ever knew_

Maybe Ron was starting to get suspicious, but Hermione couldn't stay away. She knew she didn't owe Draco anything—in fact, it was he who owed her—but she was the only one who knew what he was going through. So she kept going back, every few days, to the dingy flat.

"I wanted to be a Healer," he confided in her once. He let out a cold bark of laughter. "A _Healer_. Can you believe it?"

"Why didn't you?" Hermione watched him from the couch as he scanned the latest letter from his mother and then carelessly tossed it into the trash.

"Well, I suppose I was too busy being groomed to be a Death Eater."

"You still could," she said gently.

"What, be a Healer? No, not really. I never even got to take my NEWTs. Seventh year was kind of hectic, and then there were the trials… I was far more worried about avoiding Azkaban than graduating from Hogwarts, you know?"

"Do you still want to be a Healer?" she asked.

"Eh, not so much. I'm fine with what I'm doing now," he answered.

"Which is?"

"I clean that pub down the street. Pays alright. It's really easy—I just use magic when nobody's looking."

Hermione sighed impatiently. "And you're completely okay with that?"

Draco, the once-proud Pureblood, smiled. "Yes, completely. Couldn't be happier."

Hermione was able to detect the trace of sarcasm in his voice, though she was sure it would've escaped anyone else.

_And I wonder where these dreams go  
When the world gets in your way  
What's the point in all this screaming?  
No one's listening anyway_

"Where are you going?"

Hermione jumped and whirled around, her hand falling away from the doorknob. Ron was standing in the door to their bedroom, his arms folded.

"Going to visit Luna," she lied, quickly fabricating the rest of the story in her mind. Lying to Ron made her feel terrible, but she knew how he would react to the truth.

"Luna, eh?" he said skeptically. "She's alright?"

"Well, I'm not supposed to tell anyone, but she's having trouble with Rolf. Don't say anything?"

He sighed and held up his hands. "Fine, then—don't tell me."

"No, Ron, I—"

"It's fine, Hermione, really. It's not like we're _engaged_ or anything…" He slammed the door to the bedroom. A moment later, the lock clicked.

She took a deep breath and pressed her ear against the door. She timidly tapped it with her fingernails. "Okay, I'll tell you, but you have to hear me out. I've been visiting Draco, and—"

The door opened so suddenly that she stumbled a few steps into the room.

"You're cheating on me with _Malfoy_?!"

"No, of course not, I didn't say that—we're just talking—"

"Then why didn't you tell me?" he demanded.

"Because I knew you'd react like this!" she said in exasperation.

Ron narrowed his eyes. "Have fun with _Draco_." He tried to close the door again, but Hermione stopped it with her foot.

"I'm just trying to help him."

"How generous of you."

She just barely got her foot out of the way in time in order to prevent it from being slammed in the door. No more words were said; shouted or otherwise. Hermione stood there for a moment and then turned on her heel and left. What else was there to do? Sit around until Ron decided to be reasonable? She knew how long that could take. She arrived at Draco's flat a short time later. It still wasn't any cleaner, and Draco looked even worse for wear.

"You've been reading those books I got you?" she asked him as he let her inside. He didn't have to answer; the stack of Healing books were still on the table, exactly where they had been before.

"Hermione, I told you I don't want to be a Healer anymore." He flipped through one of the books absently. "It's too late anyway."

She groaned. "Don't give me that, Draco. You're what, twenty-four?"

"Twenty-three," he mumbled.

"Exactly. You still have an entire life ahead of you."

He closed the book and picked up the entire stack. "Thanks, but I don't need these." He handed them back to Hermione, who grudgingly accepted them.

_Your voice is small and fading  
And you hide in here unknown  
And your mother loves your father  
'Cause she's got nowhere to go_

Narcissa watched the owl as it flew off toward the horizon and out of sight. Maybe Draco would write back this time… Maybe the letters hadn't been reaching him all this time… Maybe he was… She shook her head. No. Draco was alive. Of course he was.

Repeating this to herself, she left the balcony and went back inside. The temperature drop made her shiver. There was a brisk autumn breeze outside, but the sun was warm. Inside Malfoy Manor, it was drafty and dim. She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

After quite some time of navigating through the corridors, Narcissa reached the dining room. The tall ceiling made her feel as small and vulnerable as always. Lucius was already there, sitting at the end of the long table. He glanced up and Narcissa realized he had started dinner without her.

"Oh, there you are," he said. "Come, sit. The elves will bring you something soon."

Wordlessly, she took a seat next to him. No sooner had she pulled herself up to the table than an elf brought her a plate of food.

"Is Draco writing back?" Lucius asked casually, as if they were discussing the weather and not their only son whom they hadn't heard from in months or seen for even longer.

"No," Narcissa said shortly. "Still nothing."

"Hmm."

They finished their dinner in silence.

_And she wonders where these dreams go  
'Cause the world got in her way  
What's the point in ever trying?  
Nothing's changing anyway  
_

"I saw my parents."

Hermione looked up from her tea in surprise. Draco's expression revealed nothing, but his words explained the tidied flat and the food.

"Oh," she said. "When?"

"Just after the last time you came. So about two weeks ago."

Hermione wondered if the bitterness in his voice was directed at her. Yes, she hadn't been over in a while, but that had been for the purpose of patching things up with Ron.

"So… how are they?"

"They're fine, yeah," Draco answered.

"That's good."

They both nibbled on a biscuit and supped their tea.

"I should tell you—I'm engaged," Draco said suddenly.

Hermione struggled to swallow her tea. "As in, since the last time I saw you on, what was it?"

"Wednesday, yes, almost a week ago. I knew her previously, of course."

She stared at him in pure disbelief. "And who is she?"

"Astoria Greengrass," he replied. "Very respectable girl. A Pureblood."

Hermione deflated, understanding at last. "Are you seriously going to do this, Draco? Go back to them? Marry someone you don't want to?"

"I want to marry her," he insisted. "I'm very grateful to our parents for reuniting us. It had been a long time since we'd last seen each other, and it was great to catch up."

"Well, I imagine, if it led to you popping the question," she scoffed.

"Hermione," he said, with an air of condescension. "You know how things are."

She sighed. "That's fine, Draco. Do what you have to do. Just don't lie to yourself."

_They press their lips against you  
And you love the lies they say  
And I tried so hard to reach you  
But you're falling anyway_

"Do we have to go?" Ron whined as Hermione adjusted his tie.

"Yes, we do."

"But I wasn't even invited…"

"I'm not going to go by myself. You're coming."

"They didn't come to _our_ wedding…"

"Did you want them to?"

Ron seemed to give up, but yanked at the tie around his neck, loosening it. Hermione rolled her eyes.

The wedding was small. Ron and Hermione kept to themselves, a blood-traitor and a Muggle-born among old Pureblood families. Astoria was stunning in her dress, and Draco looked handsome in his suit. Their vows and smiles and even kiss seemed well-rehearsed. The ceremony was short and polished. As soon as it was over, Ron left for the open bar—practically stepping on Astoria's train in his eagerness—while Hermione got in line with the other more civilized guests to greet the newlyweds.

When she reached the front, she smiled warmly at Draco and Astoria. They stood arm in arm, beaming at each other. Draco's façade seemed to slip the tiniest bit when he saw Hermione.

"Congratulations," she said sincerely, shaking each of their hands firmly.

"Thanks!" Astoria said and then turned to her older sister, engaging in a torrent of excited whispers and giggles.

"Are you happy, Draco?" Hermione asked quietly. He seemed startled by her gentle question.

"Yes," he answered after the slightest hesitation. Anyone but Hermione would've missed it. "Yes, I am."

"I'm glad." She smiled at him one last time, before going off to find Ron. She imagined Draco watched her retreating figure, maybe with nostalgia in his gray eyes. But she didn't glance over her shoulder to find out.

_And you know I see right through you  
'Cause the world gets in your way  
What's the point in all this screaming?  
You're not listening anyway_

* * *

**A/N: So, was that good, bad, sad, stupid…? Please tell me in a review! Again, the song is "Acoustic #3" by the Goo Goo Dolls. It's a lovely little song, one of my all-time favorites. This story is my little interpretation of "Dramione"—which is to say, a non-romantic relationship. At least, no mutual feelings. :) –Jenni**


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